


Worse Nights

by Junebug (Current521)



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: F/M, I don't really know - Freeform, That's basically all this is, i had a mental breakdown so i made ted have one, it's certainly something, me trying and failing not to chainsmoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Current521/pseuds/Junebug
Summary: Ted has had better nights. Charlotte probably hasn't, and that's what makes this one worse.
Relationships: Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Worse Nights

Ted had had worse nights. He'd had better too, but he'd definitely had worse.

Last night had been worse. Last night had been him and Charlotte yelling at each other until he'd told her to go home, and she had. Then a cigarette to calm himself down had become two, then four, then he ran out. Then it had become punching his bedroom wall, and either the walls were thinner than he expected or he was stronger than he thought, 'cause there'd been a hole in the wallpaper, just a bit of an indent, but there, and his hand hurt like hell. It was alright. At least it felt like something that wasn't just a hole in his chest.

Two nights ago had been better. Two nights ago had been Charlotte fucking him in his bed, in his arms. She'd yelled at him then, too, but not in anger, just his name. She was loud when she wanted to be, and stronger than she looked, holding him in place with just her thighs, and that was alright. He liked that about her, liked that she took what she wanted. Liked when she curled up in his arms afterwards, smiling slightly, flushed. Liked that she kissed him afterwards, too, sometimes. Liked when she stayed.

This night had had no Charlotte, not as much as a text. He almost preferred when they fought, sometimes, but it was still better than texts about her husband, or those about how she never wanted to see him again. Those stung, even though he knew she'd be back in his bed by the end of the week.

Quiet was alright normally, but Ted was sprawled on the hood of his car, watching the stars and the glow of his cigarette, and he was too aware of his own breathing and his own heartbeat. He missed Charlotte's, missed her quick, sharp gasps when they fucked, missed the hitch in her breath when he kissed her, missed her steady heartbeat against his chest when he slept.

He'd had worse nights, definitely, smoking and stargazing wasn't too bad, but it felt hollow being alone. And there were ways to go about not being alone, it was easy enough, but being alone was better than being with someone who wasn't Charlotte. And Charlotte wasn't gonna come even if he asked her, because she was busy fucking someone else, because it was her wedding anniversary, and she was married and not his. Never his.

He walked away eventually, lighting up his fifth or seventh cigarette, and it wasn't a good night, but it could be worse. And he was a grown man who could damn well go get a shot at a bar even though it was Wednesday and far too late for anyone but college kids and sad drunks to be out, so that's what he did. And the girl who approached him and said she'd tell him her name for a drink was a grown woman who knew what she was doing, so really, there was no harm in him buying her a drink. She told him her name and he immediately forgot it and resorted to calling her baby for the rest of the night, and it worked well enough, because two drinks later, she was sitting on his lap, and it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. He didn't. She wasn't Charlotte, wasn't even close, wasn't even  _ a  _ Charlotte — he'd remember her name if he was, he was sure of it — and he wasn't bothered. He also wasn't bothered when she leaned in to kiss him, either, and he humoured her with another drink and some flirtatious joke, even though he already knew how it ended. It ended when he said he was headed home, and she complained and asked him to stay for one more drink, and he made some generic excuse that badly conveyed an invitation, and she asked if she could walk him home. It ended at his front door when he said something generic about her walking home alone and she'd better stay. It ended when he fucked her on the couch, because that night, he didn't like the idea of someone not Charlotte in his bed, even if he knew she had someone not him in hers. It ended when he fell asleep with her on top of him, and she wasn't Charlotte, was younger by at least a decade and didn't look anything like her, but at least it wasn't just his own breathing, not just his own heartbeat breaking the silence. It ended when he woke up in the morning, cold, with her gone.

He should get up and go to work, but that meant facing Charlotte, meant going a whole day of trying not to stare at her, and he didn't feel up for it. So he called his boss and apologised, and then he shrugged and went to bed, because the couch really wasn't good for sleeping on, certainly not with 130 pounds of drunk college student on top of him, and shitty reality TV was just as good from his laptop on the nightstand as from the actual decade-old TV in the living room.

There was a text from Charlotte sometime around noon, and the day became slightly better, because she asked if he wanted her to drop by after work, and he said yes. It wasn't a good idea, but Ted was a weak man, especially when it came to her, and he couldn't be bothered to care. He did, however, owe her as much as to take a shower before she came, given that he'd fucked someone who wasn't her, and he sort of assumed she'd offer him the same courtesy. He didn't want to know if his assumption was correct, he wanted to live in a world where she cared about him at least a little bit.

And maybe he did live in that world, because when she came, she'd brought takeout, explaining that since he was apparently sick, she figured it might be nice. He told her it was just a hangover, and not even a bad one, but he also told her thank you and kissed her, and pretended not to be hurt when she chided him for it. He also pretended not to be hurt when he asked if she'd stay the night and she explained that she had to go home, because her husband was expecting her.

There were good nights without Charlotte, but this one wasn't one of them, because sure, she'd been by, and sure, she'd brought food, and sure, she'd eventually fucked him, but she also got out of bed immediately and said she had to go, and had gotten mad at him when he'd asked her to stay a little longer, and she'd shook her head when he asked if he didn't at least get a kiss goodbye. He hated when she left after a fight, left him with a bitter taste at the back of his throat and the memory of her lips on his skin.

There were good nights and bad nights, but most nights simply were, and while he could accept that, they always left him empty, missing Charlotte and missing something he never quite had.


End file.
